


you drew stars around my scars

by coffeecatsme



Series: i see sparks fly whenever you smile [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Blow Jobs, Din is a Little Shit, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Luke Skywalker, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Luke Skywalker, Pining, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Tattoos, din knows what he's doing, luke skywalker gets tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-27 01:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeecatsme/pseuds/coffeecatsme
Summary: Luke hates needles.Usually, it wouldn’t be a problem either. Except here Luke is, sitting in a reclined chair, about to get a tattoo. Easy to say, he’s an anxious mess.It doesn’t really help that his tattoo artist is Din Djarin, the hot single dad he’s been in love with the past few weeks, and the last thing Luke wants is to either pass out in front of him or God forbid cry.Or, 5 times Din gives Luke a tattoo and 1 time they get it together.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: i see sparks fly whenever you smile [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184489
Comments: 66
Kudos: 213





	1. Twin Suns

**Author's Note:**

> so. as promised. here's the sequel to bakery AU. i highly highly suggest you read that one first because there will be references to it, and if i have to be honest, i am very very proud of that AU lol. 
> 
> but anyway. here's an explicit sequel to it. because, well, my mind went to tattoos and din's hands all over luke and...well, there was no way i was making that sfw. so. enjoy!

Luke hates needles.

He thinks it might be a childhood trauma or something. Anakin always tells the story of how, when Luke and Leia were getting their shots, Leia was calm as a cucumber and only cried a little bit _after_ it, and every single time Luke was a crying mess. In his _defense,_ those shots _hurt,_ and if Luke gets teary eyed whenever he needs another vaccine or _oh God_ needs to have his blood drawn, no one needs to know that.

Usually, it wouldn’t be a problem either. Sure, Luke does get a checkup every year and that involves getting his blood drawn, but it’s fine—usually. Leia comes with him and holds his hand, and if Luke ends up passing out, she makes sure he has enough food and water to get back up on his feet before driving both of them back. Really, once a year isn’t that bad…

Except here Luke is, sitting in a reclined chair, about to get a tattoo. Easy to say, he’s an _anxious mess._

It doesn’t really help that his tattoo artist is _Din Djarin,_ the hot single dad he’s been in love with the past few weeks, and the _last_ thing Luke wants is to either pass out in front of him or _God forbid_ cry.

He realizes he hasn’t really thought through this whole…getting a tattoo thing before Din sat him down on the chair. He was excited about hanging out with Din, excited about Din’s offer, that he completely _forgot_ that getting a tattoo involves _needles._

“You do know they’ll be stabbing you with a needle, right?” he remembers Leia saying at some point when Luke was too lost in thought to understand her properly. But really, _Leia,_ you shouldn’t have said that when Luke was trying to design his Batman cupcake. How was he supposed to pay attention to _anything_ when he was visualizing Din’s arms— _tattoo,_ his _tattoo_ —in front of his eyes?

It’s too late for that anyway. If he chickens out now, Din will think he’s a coward, and somehow that’s even worse than crying in front of Din. That doesn’t mean Luke is any _less_ freaking out, but at least he isn’t going to jump out of the chair and run away.

“Luke.” He jumps when Din’s cold fingers fall onto his forearm, all shaved and ready for the tattoo—Luke stupidly told Din he could shave himself when Din asked and maybe he regrets that a little bit—and his eyes snap up. Din’s eyes are warm and he offers Luke a small smile. “You can still back out if you don’t want it.” And damn Luke wants to take that offer, but then Din squeezes his wrist, calloused fingers brushing the back of his hands, and Luke’s mind short circuits. He finds himself shaking his head no. Din’s smile widens and he squeezes again.

“It won’t hurt, right?” Luke blurts out when Din turns around again“It’s not that bad, right?”

“It’s still a needle, Luke.” Luke must’ve paled because Din laughs, leaning forward to tuck a strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear. And by _God_ Din is too good at distracting Luke. “But I’ll make sure it hurts as little as possible. I promise.” Din moves his fingers to Luke’s arm, over the outline of the tattoo, fingers warm and firm.

And Luke really, _really_ should stop thinking about those fingers being _somewhere else,_ somewhere further down, because he’s wearing right light-colored jeans and there will be _nothing_ to hide it if he gets hard right now. He shifts on the chair, hoping he just looks like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable, and hopes his crotch is outside of Din’s vision.

“You ready?” Din asks, the needle in his hand—fuck why is the damn _tattoo machine_ too big and too _loud?—_ and all Luke can do is nod because he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, all that will come out is a scream. Din smiles again, moving his free hand to Luke’s wrist, and places the needle on Luke’s skin.

Din wasn’t lying. It _hurts,_ and the moment Din starts outlining the tattoo Luke has to look away, biting the inside of his cheek. Din has barely started drawing one of the twin suns and tears already prickle his eyes, and Din will probably think he’s a _wimp_ now—

“You know, I was sixteen when I got my first tattoo,” Din says, voice soft, and his free hand moves down from Luke’s wrist. He curls his fingers around Luke’s hand, locking their fingers together, and Luke realizes in a moment that he wants Luke to _squeeze._ Luke’s pretty sure he cuts all circulation to Din’s fingers.

“I saw a tattoo on a friend. It was this really cool dragon on the back of his neck and he claimed it was permanent, he said it was painful but he sat through it and got it done. And, you know, I wanted one too.”

Din’s thumb moves to the back of Luke’s hand, brushing the knuckles lightly, and this time when Luke shivers it has nothing to do with the pain. He finds himself turning around, eyes on Din, and finds that there’s a small smile on Din’s face. His eyes are firmly focused on the tattoo—Luke can’t believe that all he drew are two _circles_ and nothing else—and it’s clear he’s being careful with it, making sure every detail is correct, but he still continues.

“My mom wasn’t too opposed to it. She had this tattoo artist—she brought me there, let me pick a tattoo, and even told me which places would hurt the least. I had to put it somewhere I could hide easily because of school and all, so I chose my back. A dragon tattoo.” Din chuckles and shakes his head. “I know. You’re gonna say it’s a cliché. But I was a sixteen-year-old who really liked fantasy, and dragons were cool.” He stops for a second and his eyes find Luke’s.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Luke whispers, voice only slightly choked with tears. Din arches a brow and a smile flickers on Luke’s face. “Okay, _maybe_ it’s a bit of a cliché. But dragons are cool.”

“Yeah.” Din sighs and turns back to the tattoo. “Still. Would’ve been good to know that my friend’s tattoo was a fake. Wouldn’t have gotten one that early.”

Luke knows Din’s tattooing him, knows that the needle is on his skin right now and it kind of, sort of pricks, but a soft laugh escapes his lips. He loosens his grip around Din’s when a smile flickers on Din’s face, and for a moment he’s afraid Din will let go.

He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps brushing the back of Luke’s hand with his thumb, drawing absentminded circles, and every swipe sends a shiver up Luke’s arm. He can’t take his eyes off of Din, watching as Din leans closer to get a detail right, glasses down his nose and brows furrowed, and Luke thinks he looks absolutely charming when his tongue sticks out.

“At least your other tattoos aren’t too cliché,” Luke blurts out when he realizes he’s been _staring_ at Din for the last minute and his eyes fall on Din’s arm. That, at least, is a safer place to look at than Din’s full, _kissable_ lips.

Din chuckles softly. “You mean my janky tattoos that looks like I let a five year old use me as an art project?”

“Hey. They’re _cute,”_ Luke says, defensive. “You’re like, a buff guy with a leather jacket and band t-shirts and a pretty face, and people think ‘oh wow, this guy probably has his arm covered in, like, super intense tattoos’, but then you remove your jacket and it’s an alien looking frog and wrestler Tinker Bell.” Luke’s voice trails off when Din stops and looks up, eyes amused. He presses his lips together. “I said all of that out loud, didn’t I?”

Din’s laugh fills the silent room. “Don’t worry. I’ll just chalk it up to the pain,” he says and Luke groans, head falling back onto the chair. Because really, even _he_ can’t chalk it up to the pain—he even _forgot_ Din was tattooing him even though he was literally watching the man do it, so starstruck by how Din looked when he was in his element. Din squeezes Luke’s hand with another chuckle and turns it around, moving to the other side of the tattoo.

Luke only has a second to feel disappointed when Din’s fingers slip off of his, and then they drop on Luke’s knee. Din’s eyes are firmly on the tattoo and Luke wonders if he did it intentionally or if his hand just _slipped…_

Until Din’s fingers start to move up. His brown eyes flicker up, meeting Luke’s, and he offers Luke a shy smile. “You good?” he asks, searching Luke’s face, and all Luke can answer with is a thin squeak. Din chuckles and turns back to the tattoo. “Gotta steady myself,” he murmurs, and Luke has no idea what Din moving his hand up and down have anything to do with _steadying himself_ , but his heart is hammering in his chest, his face is flushed completely red, and all that escapes his mouth is a quiet squeal. Din laughs softly, fingertips squeezing Luke’s inner thigh before they crawl up, dangerously close to Luke’s crotch, and Luke is _very glad_ Din has to watch the tattoo because there is no hiding the hardness pressing against his jeans.

Luke aches to shift, up and away from Din’s torturous touches—or down so Din’s fingers can finally move to where he _desperately_ wants them to be—but Din’s grip on his thigh is firm. “Don’t move,” Din says, voice firm, and flashes Luke a small smile. “Don’t wanna mess up the tattoo, right?” And his tone says it all. The bastard knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Luke.

Din’s fingers move back down, brushing his inner thighs and gently parting Luke’s leg, his nails biting into the jeans every now and then, and Luke has to shut his eyes. He bites back a moan, clenching his fists on the arms of the chair. His cock twitches in his pants, growing harder by the second and soon enough there’s a discernible tent on his crotch, the jeans just too damn tight to hide it. Still, Luke lets Din part his legs because even through the thick fabric Din’s touches feels _too good,_ and Luke would be lying if he didn’t imagine Din doing this at a different context, without this many clothes between them, calloused fingers brushing his bare skin…

Din moves his fingers to Luke’s other thigh, gently pushing it away so Luke’s legs are parted as much as the chair allows it, and continues his torturous touches. Luke has to clench his thighs to prevent himself from wriggling, his breathing labored, electricity shooting up his veins whenever Din stops to dig his nails lightly into the jeans. He moves them up and down, alternating legs, never quite high enough to reach Luke’s crotch but Luke is leaking already, and he’s sure there’s a wet spot on his underwear.

For the remainder of the time, Luke forgets that he’s even getting a tattoo, too focused on Din’s touches, his fingers clasped tightly around the arms of the chair to stay still. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Din stops, moving the needle away from Luke’s skin. He keeps his hand on Luke’s thigh for a few seconds more before pulling it back.

Luke can’t help a soft whine that escapes his lips. He blinks his eyes open to find Din chuckling, putting the equipment back. He offers Luke a wide grin, already grabbing what he needs to wrap up the tattoo.

“Told you I’d be able to distract you,” he murmurs, voice husky and soft, and Luke presses his lips together to fight a groan. He shifts on the chair, one arm thrown over his crotch in a desperate attempt to hide his hard and neglected cock, even though he’s pretty sure Din noticed it all.

He narrows his eyes at Din. “Do you do that to all of your customers? _”_ he asks and _damn it_ his voice is too thin—he’s glad at least Leia isn’t there to make fun of him for that. Din wraps Luke’s tattoo and flashes him a smile.

“No. Just the pretty ones.” And any retort Luke might’ve given to that dies on his lips.

Once the tattoo is wrapped and Din explained to him how to take care of it for the next few days, Luke leaves. He’s pretty sure Din’s eyes traveled down his chest to his crotch multiple times, his lips twitching into a smile, and it doesn’t really help Luke that his eyes are dark under the dim light of the tattoo parlor as if Din is _undressing_ him in his mind. Needless to say, he’s hot and red all over as he stumbles out of the shop, pants still uncomfortably tight around his crotch. He rushes into his car and only hesitates for one moment before he’s unbuttoning himself with shaky fingers.

It doesn’t take long to bring himself over the edge. He shuts his eyes, head fallen to the back of the seat, and imagines it’s Din’s fingers on his cock, slick and wet and warm, his callouses biting into the sensitive skin, and Luke comes with a muffled scream, brown eyes swimming in front of his vision.

Only when he comes down from his climax, his cum all over his clothes and hand, does he feel a flicker of shame curl in his gut. He groans and presses his forehead to the wheel.

If this is what it’s going to be like whenever Din touches him in any sort of way from now on, he’s so _fucked._


	2. Pride Cupcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't planning on posting anything today, but then i was feeling shit all day and didn't feel like writing much, so i was like "you know what sounds good? editing and posting". so here we are.
> 
> hope y'all like this chapter!

Luke promises himself that he’ll say no if Din comes up with another tattoo idea.

No, not because he doesn’t want another tattoo. Sure, the first one hurt a little bit—at least until Din started to distract him—but it really wasn’t that bad, and Luke thinks he might want more. No, because he really doesn’t think he can handle it if Din torturously touches him the same way, and the last thing he needs is to cum all over himself in a damn tattoo chair without even touching his cock.

And yes, when he told Leia that, she laughed so hard that she fell off her chair, and then continued to laugh some more. “You jerked yourself off right after, didn’t you?” she asked, brow arched, and Luke really, really wished he could say no.

Translation—he’s not getting a tattoo, at least not from Din. At least that’s what he tells himself…until Din comes at the bakery a few days later to “check on Luke’s tattoo”—really, does he need to _rub_ Luke’s arm like that when inspecting the damn ink?—and shows Luke another tattoo design. It’s a cupcake with a frosting in pride colors, wide eyes and a cute smile. “I thought it would look good on your ankle,” Din offers, a cheeky smile on his face. Luke flushes red when he thinks about Din’s hands on his ankle, traveling up his bare leg, slowly rubbing its way to his thighs and maybe even under his _shorts—_

Luke knows he should say no. Instead, a pitchy “okay” leaves his mouth and Din flashes him a brilliant smile.

Leia laughs even _more_ when Luke dejectedly visits her place, slumps on the kitchen counter, and tells her that he’s getting _another_ tattoo.

That’s how Luke finds himself, at seven p.m. again, in Din’s tattoo parlor. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and shorts— _obscenely short_ shorts, if you ask Leia, but really, Luke thinks they’re perfectly _fine._ They’re at least a few inches _longer_ than some _dresses_ Leia owns and reach about a hand above his knees, which is perfectly _acceptable_ —biting down on his lip and fiddling with his fingers. His eyes meet Din’s when Din looks up, a smile forming on Din’s lips before his gaze trail down.

Din’s mouth drops open. His eyes travel down his legs, taking in the golden skin and muscles—Luke runs at least a few miles _daily,_ thank you _very much—_ and then travels back up to Luke’s crotch. Luke wonders briefly whether Din is imagining him naked, and _that_ thought doesn’t help him at all. He’s pretty sure he’s completely red by the time he adjusts his shorts and steps into the shop.

So. The shorts might’ve been a mistake—“It was on purpose, Luke, don’t fucking lie,” Luke can imagine Leia telling him, one of his cupcakes in her mouth—but when a grin creeps up to Din’s face, all Luke can think about is how pretty he looks.

“I see that you came prepared,” he said, gesturing at Luke’s legs. Luke just shrugs.

“Uh, I just wanted you to have easy access. To my ankles,” Luke quickly adds, eyes wide. “You know. For the tattoo.” A chuckle leaves Din’s lips. His eyes dip down again and yes, this time he’s _definitely_ staring at Luke’s crotch, and Luke feels the sudden urge to drape his hands over it. He’s already growing hard, but he just hopes it isn’t too noticeable.

“You know you’re not getting a tattoo on your thigh right?” Din muses. His eyes meet Luke’s. “Or maybe you just want me to have easy access to _something else_.” He offers Luke a quick wink before he turns to the monitors, and _damn him_ Luke is _definitely_ hard now, if he wasn’t before. He tries to adjust the shorts to hide it, but they’re too tight to even _work._ He curses himself for not wearing a sweatshirt or something to drape over himself. He narrows his eyes at Din, and when he’s sure Din’s not looking, even sticks out his tongue.

Din chuckles again. “I saw that,” he says, one corner of his lips curled up, and Luke wonders whether smacking Din upside down on the head will rescind his rights to a free tattoo.

In about five minutes, Luke is sitting on the chair again, this time his legs extended in front of him for, well… “easy access”. Din placed the design on Luke’s ankle, making sure to trace his fingers _all the way_ down from Luke’s thigh to do it, and before Din even grabs the needle and wheels back next to him, Luke’s cock is pressing against his pants and the only thing covering it is Luke’s arms.

Din takes one look at Luke’s crossed hands and grins. “Ready?” he asks, leaning down _way closer_ than he needs to, his breath brushing Luke’s bare skin. A shiver runs down Luke’s spine and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from moving. All he can answer with is a nod, trying to ignore Din’s thumb drawing lazy circles on his ankle. Din offers him a smile, moving his hand up Luke’s leg to his knee. “Keep still,” he murmurs, as if that’s in any way, shape or form _possible_ with the way he’s touching Luke, and presses the needle on Luke’s skin.

It hurts, almost as much as it hurt the first time and Luke has to bite down on his lip, but the pain quickly mixes with pleasure. Din drags his nails up Luke’s ankle to his knee, as if he’s aware of the pain and is doing his best to replace it. His touch is ghostly at parts, but he digs his nails into Luke’s skin every now and then, letting them linger. Luke has to bite back a moan when his hand moves further up, to Luke’s knee, thumb brushing the sensitive spot inside of it.

“Din,” Luke chokes out, trying not to wriggle on the seat. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against the front of his shorts, and Luke’s hands are trembling as he crosses them over the tent on his crotch. It’s an effort not to just unbutton the shorts and slip a finger inside, moving them in tandem with Din’s touches—or better yet, let Din slip his fingers there—

“Yes, Luke?” Din murmurs, his fingers still on Luke’s knee for a second. Luke looks down to find him smiling, eyes firmly focused on the tattoo. Luke sees the needle on his skin, sees that Din is _moving_ it, but instead of the pain of it, whenever the needle bites into Luke’s ankle pleasure rushes up Luke’s leg. It doesn’t help that Din’s fingers start moving again, up instead of down. And Luke was right the previous time—feeling Din’s fingers on his bare skin is much better than through the pants.

“Something wrong?” Din continues and Luke lets his head drop to the headrest. _Yes,_ he thinks, fingers twitching on his lap. _Yes, stop, no, go on, go further up, touch me, please Din—_

Luke’s cock twitches and he bites his lip harshly to stop himself from voicing _any_ of those words. Din’s eyes flicker to him for a few moments, his smirk widening, and he slowly starts to rub his thumb along Luke’s inner thigh. And Luke thinks the shorts were _definitely_ a big, _big_ mistake.

“I hope I’m not hurting you.” Din turns back to the tattoo, pressing the needle gently on Luke’s skin. Luke can’t help shooting him a glare, as if he doesn’t know _exactly_ what he’s doing to Luke. _If by hurting you mean driving me absolutely insane, then yes, you’re doing that,_ Luke thinks, but the thoughts scatter when Din’s fingers move further up and brush the ends of Luke’s shorts.

Luke has to dig his nails harshly into his palms to keep himself from moaning. For a moment, Din’s hand lingers there as he repositions himself so he’s pressing down on Luke’s foot with his arm, giving himself a better angle and, Luke realizes _too late,_ preventing Luke from moving his leg at all. Luke thinks, for a moment, that Din will stop there, just moving his fingers along Luke’s shorts—that, still, is torturous, considering Leia was right, the fucking _thing_ is _obscenely short_ —but then Din’s index finger pushes against the fabric, his nail biting into Luke’s skin briefly, before he slips it under it. Only the tips of his fingers are under Luke’s shorts yet Luke is pretty sure he’s not breathing at all.

He wonders how far Din will go, and the thought of Din’s fingers digging under his boxers, reaching where his cock is, almost extracts a moan from Luke. He has to shut his eyes tightly and tries to suck in some air, to force himself to think about something other than Din’s calloused fingers wrapped around his cock.

“Din, fuck,” he breathes, moving one hand to the arm of the chair and digging his nails into the fabric. It’s an effort to keep still when Din digs his fingers further under his shorts, moving them to Luke’s inner thigh, nails digging into the sensitive skin every now and then. _“Din,_ ” Luke repeats, voice tinted with a warning, though Luke doesn’t know what he’s asking—for Din to stop or to _go on._ Din just chuckles and doesn’t even turn his eyes away from the tattoo as he moves his fingers back around, digging in more. His fingers are splayed under Luke’s shorts to the knuckles, his thumb drawing absentminded circles, and when Din moves them to Luke’s inner thigh, they brush his underwear. Luke stills, breathing labored, waiting for Din to make his next move. A part of him thinks Din will stop, that it will be too much. His eyes fall on Din.

Din just smirks and slowly, his fingers move up, pushing away the boxers. They’re achingly close to Luke’s cock now—a couple of inches more, and Din will be touching the base. A soft moan escapes Luke’s lips at the thought, thankfully masked by the tattoo machine. For a moment, Luke wishes Din would just move his fingers up now if he was gonna do it anyway, that he would just _touch Luke_ where Luke needs him to be, fingers moving up and down Luke’s cock, bringing him over the edge… But instead, Din keeps his fingers where they are, only moving them in circles under Luke’s shorts, teasing Luke’s underwear by tugging on it every now and then. Luke is sure he’s leaking, eyes firmly closed, one hand limp on his crotch barely hiding his achingly hard cock.

He’s so far gone that he doesn’t even realize it when Din stops the tattoo machine until he feels Din’s fingers move down and out. A choked moan escapes his lips and his eyes fly open, hazy and needy. He realizes Din is standing over him with a smirk, leaning against the table next to Luke. “The tattoo is done,” he says, grabbing the wrap and cream from the table.

Luke can only watch as Din wraps the tattoo carefully, his cock still painfully hard. Din’s eyes flicker up every now and then, looking at Luke’s crotch, and Luke is sure by the time he realizes his painfully obvious hardness isn’t covered at all, Din has had a good eyeful of it. He doesn’t comment, even as Luke stands up and his pants are tented, and instead leads Luke out the shop with a smirk.

This time, Luke makes it back to his house before he throws off his shorts and underwear and wraps his fingers around his cock. At least Leia can’t make fun of him for coming all over himself.


End file.
